The Lesbian Principle
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Jenny tells Gibbs a story about Ziva. Except...he doesn't know it's about Ziva, or maybe he wouldn't have been so into it. Jibbs. Though, actually it's a bit Jiva-ish. Slash involved, so if that's not your thing, be forewarned.


_A/N: There are heavy, explicit mentions of femmeslash in this fic, so if that isn't your cup of tea, I suggest you peace out right about now. That being said, I've never written girl/girl before, and I'm not sure if this counts. Kudos to my friend Kay for putting up with the absolute weirdest texts over this. _

_I didn't intend for this to be a "How Jenny Met Ziva" story, but damn if it didn't evolve into that... /wink/._

* * *

_"She saved my life in Cairo two years ago."_  
_[Jenny Shepard; Kill Ari, Prt. 2]_

* * *

She interrupted a lazy, post-coital, sweet sort of kiss to run her hand through his short, silver hair and tilt his eyes up to meet hers. She smiled a little at the glint of disappointment in his icy blues and tilted her head. He moved his hands up her spine and squeezed her shoulders, pulling her against his chest more tightly.

"What?" he grunted quietly.

She lifted her chin, shaking her hair back from her face.

"Why did you ban DiNozzo from the case du jour?" she murmured curiously.

He rolled his eyes—so it was going to be like the old days, except instead of Decker and Burley, it was DiNozzo and McGee they'd bitch about after they'd worked off a long day in bed.

"Does it matter?" he asked, trying to capture her lips in another kiss.

She dodged him gracefully and nodded, her lips touching his jaw and her forehead brushing against his.

"He sent me seven e-mails begging me to talk some sense into you," she revealed, laughing quietly in the back of her throat.

Gibbs snorted.

"You serious?"

She nodded, and he made a mental note to head-slap DiNozzo within an inch of his life. The Director didn't have time to deal with his whining and pleading—and he had a lot of nerve if he thought he could try to play one boss against the other.

Gibbs made an annoyed noise and slid his hands back down her sides, stopping to run his thumbs in circles on her hips. He contemplated his answer for a moment, not particularly keen on discussing it—in case it ruined the mood. Jenny nudged his nose with hers and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, her lashes fluttering expectantly. Gibbs shrugged.

"It's Corporal Foe's case," he said.

Jenny moved her head.

"I haven't read it yet," she said apologetically. "It's in the pile on my desk."

Gibbs grunted. He hadn't foreseen having to explain it. He frowned slightly.

"Think Foe's wife's girlfriend killed Foe after she found out Mrs. Foe was taping all the sexual encounters so she and her husband could watch 'em."

Jenny tilted her head.

"Foe's wife's—girlfriend?" she clarified.

Gibbs cocked a brow and nodded.

"Ah," purred Jenny, smirking. "I see DiNozzo's fascination."

Gibbs looked annoyed. He turned slightly; Jenny moved off of him, curling up next to him. She pressed her hand to his chest and let her head fall back on a pillow, looking up at him smugly.

"I take it he just wanted to watch the videos?"

"Waste of time," growled Gibbs. "No evidence on 'em." He gave her a pained look and leaned down to press a kiss to her collarbone. "He's like a damn kid in a candy store about it, just 'cause it's two women."

Jenny laughed, rubbing her thigh against his under the blankets.

"Oh, come on, Jethro," she said. "You act as if he's the only man who gets a little revved up over girl on girl."

Gibbs grunted, shrugging again.

"Not relevant," he grumbled.

Jenny pushed him back slightly, her fingertips pressing into his chest. She arched an eyebrow primly.

"You didn't want to turn on the sex tapes just for a second?" she asked skeptically.

He shook his head.

"Don't care," he retorted.

She gave him a look and shifted, rising up on her side. She propped her cheek on her elbow and pulled the sheets up, chewing her lip suspiciously.

"You don't get turned on by the idea of women together?" she provoked.

He stared at her.

"No," he growled pointedly.

She laughed sarcastically. She shook out the sheets and made a show of looking down them, as if checking that he was, indeed, a man. He smacked her hand down gently and gave her a glare. She pursed her lips primly.

"You wouldn't need a cold shower if I made out with one of your ex-wives right in front of you?"

"Might need a spoon to gouge my eyes out with," he deadpanned.

She shoved him in the chest, compressing her lips to keep back a laugh. She wasn't convinced, however—she pushed her hair back, gripping it for a moment and considering him.

"I'm to believe you've never been into the lesbian principle?"

"The—what?"

"The fact that men claim they love lesbians, but only insofar as the lesbians hook-up with _them_ after they get it on with each other."

Gibbs looked slightly confused. He shook his head.

"Nah," he grunted.

"Never?"

"Women who aren't interested in me?" he mumbled, scoffing and running his hand over her hip under the sheets. He started to pull her closer, but she put her arm between them, listening and keeping him slightly at bay. "Don't see the appeal."

Jenny eyed him warily and then tilted her head back, laughing.

"What's pathetic is that I almost believe you," she said frankly—Gibbs was never much of a _kink_ man, even when they'd both been younger and wilder in their Paris nights.

She scrutinized him, quiet for a thoughtful moment. If her intent eyes perturbed him, he said nothing; he moved closer and bent to kiss her neck, his teeth scraping lightly over sore bite marks he'd given her earlier in the evening. She slid her palm through her own hair and let her head fall to the pillow again, nudging his thigh with hers. She turned onto her back, exposing her neck to him more fully. He wrapped his arm around her waist.

"I've been with a woman," she announced boldly.

Her first clue that she'd unraveled his prudish denial that he'd never fantasized about it was that his hands and mouth completely stopped moving on her. She could feel him breathing, just barely, and smiled wickedly, imagining the conflicted thoughts flying around in his head. It was in the way his ears seemed to visibly perk up, and he moved his hips towards her just slightly, and he swallowed hard—he struggled for a good five minutes, and then asked:

"Really?"

He attempted to sound nonchalant, and failed. His voice went up at the end.

"Aha!" she whispered, gripping him at the nape of the neck and tilting his head up. She caught his guilty eyes triumphantly and parted her lips, letting the moment sink in. He mustered a glare, and she was proud of him for that. She bit her lip and ran her hand over his neck soothingly, as if cooling the burn.

"College?" he guessed neutrally. "Experimenting, Jen?

She lifted her eyebrows and shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"More recently," she murmured, lowering her voice. "She was _after_ you," she teased softly.

Gibbs made a funny movement with his head that made him look somewhat like an eager puppy. She watched a muscle in his jaw flex as he clenched his teeth and knew she had him—hook, line, and sinker. She grinned, her tongue caught fetchingly between her teeth.

"You want me to tell you about it, Jethro?" she coaxed innocently, sensing he was restraining himself from asking—ever stubborn, still trying to cling to his assertion that he wasn't one of those guys.

His eyes half-closed as he grappled with his dignity. He slid his hand over her hip to her thigh and then nodded curtly. She smirked and combed her fingers through her hair, turning flat onto her back. Her red curls spilled over one shoulder and she let him draw the blankets back as he wished and look at her.

"I was working out of a brothel in Egypt," she began lightly, letting her mind drift a little—back to the hot, desert city and the dizziness and dehydration that seemed to constantly be part of her life then.

Egypt rang a bell for Gibbs, but he was too distracted by the look in her green eyes to remember what it was at the moment.

"It was where I met an informant. I had a cover as one of the whores, but I was only ever there for show, and to disappear upstairs with one or two patrons—two insiders we had in a arms dealing brotherhood in Cairo."

"We?" Gibbs growled.

"NCIS," she clarified, "and the other agency."

He raised his brows and she smirked.

"Not relevant," she said smoothly, leaving out Mossad for now and throwing his previous words back into his face. She lifted her hand and slipped it behind her head, using it as a pillow. She cleared her throat softly.

"I was two months into the work when this little tart shows up in cats-eye make-up and with a Persian knife and tells me my cover is blown, that the ring we've been working with knows who I am, and they're beheading the informants I've been coddling as we speak."

He was staring at her, entranced, and she hadn't even gotten to the gritty parts yet.

"She had the same tattoo on her cheek as the men in the brotherhood; she claimed she was infiltrated with them, and she'd been ordered not to risk her cover—but she wanted me alive, and my expertise for a mission in Eastern Europe—"

"Expertise?" Gibbs growled.

"Interrogation—and American influence," Jenny clarified. Gibbs looked slightly smug—after all, he'd taught her to interrogate.

"You know the woman?" he asked.

Jenny pursed her lips.

"Never met her before—didn't trust her; blew her off," she said. She frowned for a moment. "I almost lost my life for that," she murmured bitterly. She flicked her eyes over Gibbs' bare chest and pushed from her memory the brutal firefight that had almost resulted in her death. "These brutes came to take me the next night—I was supposed to meet the agents. They never showed; the girl was right—they'd been killed. Bastards murdered every whore in the harem, the ones that didn't run when the shooting started," Jenny paused and licked her lips.

Gibbs rubbed traced the shape of her hips with his hand, his fingers moving on her under the blankets. She smirked slightly and closed her eyes, her lashes brushing together on her cheeks.

"So I'm sitting on the edge of a filthy bed upstairs, holding two pistols and thinking I'm about to meet my death, when the door flies open and the woman walks in holding an Uzi," Jenny continued. She bit her lip. "I don't know how she guessed I understood Russian, but she gave me an order, and then turned to face the men that flanked her. I shoved the guns under the bed and started screaming in hysterical French, like she'd told me to, while she argued."

Gibbs smirked.

"She came in the room, ripped off my wig—"

"What colour were you using?" Gibbs grunted.

"The black one," she said simply.

He made a face. He hated that black wig.

"I was swearing I was a decoy, that the American bitch dressed me so she could escape, but I begged them to spare me and I'd tell them where she was—like the woman had told me to. She gave 'em a few orders—said she'd use her proclivities to get an answer out of me, and kicked the door shut."

Gibbs looked at her warily, as if he couldn't decide if he was worried by the story or aching to hear more. She licked her lips and arched her back a little, getting comfortable. She ran her hand over her abdomen, catching her breath.

"So she slips off the Uzi she's got strapped on and kneels down in front of me. She pulled off her hijab and she's got this thick, messy black hair—and she shoved my knees apart, giving me instructions in low, husky English—she had a gorgeous voice," Jenny murmured.

Gibbs shifted, pressing his hand into her thigh insistently. His thumb ran in circles over her skin and she smirked a little more.

"She ran her hands up my thighs and pushed me back on the bed and she yanked my panties off—wasn't wearing much, what with the whore cover—and she's telling me she's got a reputation to uphold with the brotherhood; she's got to distract them, convince them she's persuading me—NCIS had 'em all wrong; they weren't religious fanatics, they were opportunists making money off terrorists, but she was with them to hunt down the fanatics they supplied—"

"Jen."

"Right, not sexy," she laughed quietly. She cocked an eyebrow. "She got up on her knees over me and pulled down the top of my outfit and then she started kissing my neck—it was so eerie, I recognized the technique, I recognized how women _kiss_—"

He opened is mouth, breathing out heavily, and reached between her legs—but she caught him, and reached for him instead, turning towards him. She pressed a teasing kiss to his lower lip, her tongue touching him, and she smirked against his mouth.

"She slipped a hand…between my legs…and touched me, stroking with lithe, strong fingers, whispering those instructions—raising her voice every now and then to sound like she was questioning me—telling me to make it sound real," Jenny paused. She laughed hoarsely. "Ooh, I wasn't faking, Jethro, she was good," she breathed.

He closed his eyes, groaning involuntarily. He pushed his hips into her hand and she laughed, a sound that sounded like butterscotch in her throat. He swallowed hard, and she went on, moving her lips to his ear. Her teeth gripped his lobe for a moment.

"It's not like being with a man," she whispered. "Women…know how to touch other women," Jenny remembered, her breath hitching. "She thrust her fingers inside me and I swear—I _screamed," _she paused, letting him do what he wanted with his imagination. "She kissed my throat and pushed my shoulders back into the bed—I knew exactly what she was doing with her fingers because I'd done it to myself, we've all done it to ourselves—women—but knowing that she understood exactly how to get me off was so hot," Jenny swallowed.

"Christ," muttered Gibbs, lowering his head. He set his jaw tightly, and she slowed her hand, afraid she'd push him too far too fast. He groaned hoarsely, protesting the cessation of movement, and she soothed him with a slow kiss.

"I kept yelling what she told me to yell—giving up information—screaming for more—she ingratiate herself with the brotherhood, used sexual prowess as a manner for control and to ferret out their secrets, and she made sure she was well known for using that as her technique—she was going so hard on me, Jethro, I couldn't get the words out after a while, I was just writhing on the bed, hoping she'd give it to me, and she just kept working her fingers inside me, tracing her tongue along my throat—"

Gibbs pushed her hand away, holding it tightly. He gave her a warning look and she fought him, stroking her nails down his chest before resuming her tease. He was hard again, and she was more than a little ready for him to flip her on her back and fuck her hard—but if he could just hold off a minute—

"I hadn't gotten laid in months, and there I was in the throes of the best orgasm of my life from this strange woman, and then she sat back and pulled me up, wrapped her arms around my shoulders. She pulled my hair and damn near stuck her tongue down my throat—and she thrust her fingers in me so hard I thought I'd shatter," Jenny broke off, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath. "I came—so hard," she murmured huskily.

Gibbs groaned again, and finally struggled away from her and pushed her onto her back. He kicked the covers away and settled over her hips, shoving one of her knees up level with his ribcage. She winced and threw her head back as he slipped inside her, and she abandoned the story for a moment, clenching her teeth and slipping her hand firmly between them to help herself along.

Seconds later, when he was spent resting on her heavily—holding his body in a way that kept her warm and underneath him without crushing her—she swallowed hard and cleared her throat, unable to speak for another moment. He groaned appreciatively, murmuring her name, and kissed her neck, his lips lingering.

"You get out clean?" he asked huskily.

"No," she whispered. "She opened fire on the men when we came out, took 'em by surprise, and we got out the back, but that blew the mission and we lost our Intel—I got my ass handed to me by Morrow—"

But Gibbs shook his head; he didn't want to hear the technicalities. He moved off of her and she made a soft noise of protest in the back of her throat—she didn't quite want to feel that emptiness just yet. He stroked his hand through her hair and pulled her close, his mouth seeking hers again, still eager and hot.

"You ever find out who she was?" he growled suggestively.

She arched her back, stretching and shifting in his arms. She laughed huskily and a devilish smile broke out over her lips.

"Yeah," she purred smugly. "Ziva David."

She was unprepared for his completely panicked reaction; he bolted up in bed, nearly shoving her down into the sheets, and he looked at her with a white, stricken face—as if he was a teenage boy, busted in the bathroom with a Playboy and his pants around his ankles. She bit back raucous laughter at the sight of him, and managed to settle for cocking an eyebrow in deceptive innocence.

"Jen," he growled violently. "I _work_ with her."

She gave him a look, scoffed, and gestured at their current situation.

"You work with me," she pointed out airily.

He rubbed is jaw, covering his face.

"It's different," he growled. "She's—she's," he couldn't bring himself to say her name. "She's uh—she's just a kid," he whined—he thought of her as a young girl, someone he needed to protect, to raise not—

Jenny licked her lower lip.

"She's the best orgasm I ever had," she said boldly.

He turned his back and covered is face, running his hand roughly through his hair. She looked at him mildly for a moment, then smirked and sat up, resting her hands on his back and stroking soothingly. He twitched her off but she was persistent and he groaned at her, swearing under his breath in a pained voice—

She was positive she had, in traumatizing him, effectively cured Leroy Jethro Gibbs of any lingering male propensity he had to indulge in the fetishization of lesbian relationships.

* * *

_bam said the lady: political statement  
friendly reminder that_ _lesbian sex isn't out there for the hedonistic needs of men :) :) _

_-Alexandra  
story #151_


End file.
